


T-shirt Weather

by littlemachines



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Keith and Shiro are Adoptive Siblings, M/M, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Summer Vacation, but mostly it's (hopefully) good cheesy fun, non-binary Pidge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-11-13 12:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11184735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemachines/pseuds/littlemachines
Summary: “End of summer,” Lance said confidently. He had resumed a position of relaxation, head back and eyes closed as the wind combed through his hair gently. When he smiled into the sun, Keith looked away. “By the end of this summer, I will have had the whirlwind romance they make movies about.”“Did we mention Lance also has terrible taste in films?” Pidge murmured to Keith.Lance opened his eyes to point an accusing finger at Pidge. “You take that back!”Keith watched them bicker back and forth about movies and questions of taste and a lot of it didn’t make sense to him, not because it was pop culture he was inept in but every word was packed with significance, like sofas and wheat fields andLance McClain is back at it again.Friends forever. Keith was running out of places to look so he focused on the waterdrops that still clung to Lance’s eyelashes. The sun was high in the sky and Keith wondered if Lance was seeing rainbows in a town where it never rained.Summer, sun and secrets. Keith hadn't asked for his life to take the turns it did but it led him to a small beach town and a boy with a sharp smile, sharper eyes and an unrivaled love for the sea.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only romcom i've ever seen is crazy stupid love so actually don't trust me  
> i'm not sure if anyone has written SUMMER ROMANCE KLANCE but it's top tier so i'm having a bash at it LET'S GO  
> the lyrics below and title are from t-shirt weather by circa waves  
> HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY I'M NERVOUS TO POST IN A BIG TAG BUT I LOVE ALL THESE KIDS SO LET'S TRY TO HAVE SOME FUN  
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/reaperapologist)  
> [tumblr](http://www.akingdomorthis.tumblr.com)  
> p.s. i am not representing any beach house agency i swear

_so we talk til’ we're sick / 17 went far too quick / and when my mind plays tricks / i have to go / it’s going to be OK / it’s going to be OK / it’s going to be OK_

* * *

 

Keith had thought Shiro had been exaggerating but he really could hear the sea from his bedroom.

 _His bedroom_. Even the thought felt clumsy, forced to fit, much like the Keith in the room of a modest but undoubtedly expensive beach home. It was a two-bedroom bungalow made of wood and glass, with a kitchen and living room in one space and decked out with sliding doors that doubled as windows. It had a porch with a customary deckchair and a path constructed with rocks artfully on either side that led to the beach, unnatural but convenient. All in all, the whole place belonged on the front of a travel brochure and not with Keith in it.

Yet here it was and it was the unfinished construction, imperfect details and unpolished spots that stopped Keith from picking up his sparse belongings (shoved inside a frayed sports bag which once belonged to Shiro) and heading back to the bus stop, the train station, the airport, _the hell away from here_. The lodge was still under construction, the porchlight still broken, half the floorboards pre-renovation at seemingly random and the sofa in the living room was a donation from someone in the town, a proud and sturdy thing made of weathered patchwork with mismatched cushions.

More than that, the place didn’t exactly feel fresh and new. Shiro had been living in it for a while now and it showed. Keith’s room had historically always been worse but Shiro had his fair share of clutter, displayed in the blanket thrown lazily over the ugly sofa, a coffee table with a load of paperwork stacked atop it and circle stains on the glass _and_ the paper. There was an unwashed blender on the counter and Keith, knowing Shiro, imagined that it would always be there, mysteriously changing colour with leftover residue of bananas, strawberries, mangos on a good day. It was as comforting as it was infuriating that Shiro had changed very little and Keith had to make a conscious effort to not glare at a _blender_ when Shiro had given him a tour of the house.

Instead, he had resorted to glaring at his new bedroom. Blank walls, made bed with furniture consisting of a wardrobe, desk (without a chair) and bedside drawer all made of different types of wood. The smell of it made him feel a little nauseous but he didn’t dare open the window/door in case the salt spray made him feel worse. His things remained unpacked, hopeful for nothing. It wasn’t like the room would look any different when he did. When he lowered himself onto the bed, it didn’t creak and Keith deliberated, childishly, on punching it.

Shiro’s voice was carried by the coastal wind. “Keith! Can you come out here a sec?”

The mattress lived to see another day. Keith hung his jacket on the back of his door and followed the sound of voices, tense at the familiarity and unfamiliarity. In the time Keith had taken to ‘get settled in’ into his new bedroom, guests had made themselves comfortable in the joint kitchen and living room area. From where Keith entered, all he could see of the figure lying on the sofa was a tuft of hair and legs hanging off, Converse lovingly battered and laces trailing. The _tap tap tap_ coming from behind the sofa accompanied sound effects of explosions. Keith wondered if they were playing on Shiro’s iPad. At the kitchen counter, Shiro was pouring a glass of orange juice as he spoke with another man, this one Keith could see and recognised. Matt Holt, without the graduation cap and round glasses, spotted him before Shiro did and waved. Keith tried for a smile and wished it didn’t hurt. He felt like the guest in his new home.

“Keith,” Matt said warmly, announcing his presence to Shiro who stilled where he was at the open refrigerator, taking the carton of orange juice he was putting away back out. “Welcome to Altea.”

Keith swallowed, throat dry. Shiro poured another glass. “Thanks.” When Shiro offered the juice to him as came closer, he shook his head.

Shiro didn’t even blink. “Hey, Pidge, you want this?”

Pidge seemed to be the mysterious head of hair on the sofa. They lifted themselves into view and Keith blinked at the sight. A smaller version of Matt appeared only wearing glasses and without the smile. A deep voice announced _game over_ which at least explained their unimpressed expression. They looped their arm across the back of the sofa with a sigh. “Great, Shiro, now I’m dead and the earth is going to be colonised by the galactic empire with mankind enslaved to reap resources for out of galaxy export. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

Shiro smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. You sure juice won’t help?”

Pidge considered for a moment then quite literally jumped over the sofa. Shiro let out a weak protest. “Watch the sofa.”

“Oh.” Pidge looked back at it. Now it was their turn to rub at the back of their neck guiltily. “Sorry, Shiro. I forgot where I was for a second there. I’ve played a load of video games on that baby.”

Matt _tsk_ ed lightly. “You treat Mrs McClain with this level of disrespect too, squirt?”

Pidge was significantly smaller and weedier than Matt but up close, the resemblance was uncanny. Same mousy hair, Matt’s a tad longer. Same big brown eyes, though, behind the glasses Pidge had inherited from their brother, Pidge’s seemed larger, child-like. Keith threw his mind far back to the day of Shiro’s graduation and meeting the Holt’s. Matt had a kid sister, Katie, who was definitely Matt’s only other sibling, who Matt had affectionately called _squirt_ when she had nestled into his gown upon introduction to Shiro. Who would be about Pidge’s age now. It clicked and Keith saw relief in Shiro’s eyes as they met his own above the rim of his own glass. He tried to not let that bother him.

“Of course not.” Pidge pulled themselves up to sit on the counter, like they did this every day and maybe they did, and snatched the glass from Shiro, fixing their brother with a glare. “Besides, if you guys knew what Lance got up to on that couch, you would never have taken it in the first place.”

Shiro put his glass down, grimacing. “Thanks, Pidge.”

“No problem.”

Matt met Keith’s gaze and rolled his eyes. _Siblings, eh?_ his smile said but Keith couldn’t return it. He wasn’t part of this framework surrounding a sofa. The McClains were strangers to him. A guest, an outcast in his own home. Suddenly, he wished he’d accepted the glass of juice so it would have given him something to do other than just stand there.

“Keith,” Matt said. “Meet Pidge. Pidge, Keith.”

“You’ve met before but I don’t think Pidge would remember,” Shiro offered, more for Pidge’s sake than Keith’s.

Pidge spoke with their teeth between the rim of the glass. “Your hair’s grown.”

Matt hid his smirk behind his hand. “I stand corrected,” Shiro said, blinking. Then, to Keith: “I was gonna show you around town but then the Holts decided to homewreck-”

“Believe me, Keith” – Matt was looking at Keith too but his hand pressed to Shiro’s chest as he intercepted – “you don’t want Shiro showing you around. Once, he was trying to find the florist for Mama Hunk and ended up-”

“Hey, that wasn’t my fault,” Shiro protested weakly. “You all _knew_ Lance’s directions were bogus.”

“There, there.” Matt patted Shiro's chest and it looked like he was soothing a giant, wounded puppy. Keith stared at the two of them, at the natural way they moved around each other. Every moment he was there was an intrusion. Then Matt spoke to him again. “Shiro’s got no sense of direction but Pidge here has offered to be tour guide. Introduce you to the local sights and their friends.”

Keith knew he should say something but if he opened his mouth, he feared other words would spill out. _Great. Exactly what I didn’t want. I_ know _. I know my own brother._ So he stayed silent.

Matt continued, “Best you didn’t get lost on your first day here and end up in a wheat field miles out from the town.”

Shiro huffed. “It was _one_ _time_.”

Pidge had drained their glass and set it atop the counter beside them. “I never deleted the voicemails. They’ll come in handy one day.”

Shiro paled. Hurrying to change the subject, he suggested, “How about you guys start with the beach?”

Pidge allowed themselves to be distracted, hopping off the counter with surprising grace. “Was on the top of my list.”

“That cool with you, Keith?”

 _No. There’s nothing cool about any of this. You know this. You_ should _know this._ “Yeah.”

When Keith stepped back to head for the door, Pidge fixed him with a hard look, pinning him to the spot. “You gonna go like that?”

He looked down at himself. Jeans, t-shirt. The t-shirt used to be black but had washed out to a pale grey, consequently the lightest coloured shirt he owned, and his jeans were black but full of holes. It was the closest he had to summer attire. “Yeah?”

Pidge shrugged. “Your death, I guess.”

“I’ll see you for dinner,” Shiro said as a way of goodbye as he gathered the empty glasses. Keith nodded. He felt like a puppet, limbs jerked here and there. He was tired of being held up, stiff and awkward. Beside them, Matt was offering Pidge ideas on where to go. _The research centre is closed today though, remember that. I’m not giving you the keys, squirt. You remember what happened last time. I don’t think Mrs McClain will appreciate paying for damages_ again.

When Keith said goodbye to Matt, Matt shook his hand.

Pidge led the way to the beach and Keith decided that, if nothing else, he liked Pidge. They didn’t try to make conversation and had paused a few times to attempt to catch Pokémon, at one point on someone else’s porch. Besides, the further they got from the conditioned house, the more Keith began to regret leaving it. Almost instantly his shirt began to stick to his skin and the back of his neck felt uncomfortably damp.

Suddenly Pidge extended their hand. “Here.”

It was an elastic band. When Keith didn’t take it right away, Pidge explained, “For your hair. I don’t have anything better on me but it should ease some of the heat off your neck.” Behind their glasses, their eyes were large and earnest.

Keith took it. “Thanks.”

Pidge pocketed their phone. “You remember me, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“So” – Pidge kicked at a pebble in the path – “you not gonna ask any questions?”

“What am I supposed to ask?”

There was a long pause. Then Pidge smiled. “You’re not half bad, Keith. Even if your name is Keith.”

Keith blew a breath up at his own face in hope to move the hairs that were pressed to his forehead. “Says the kid with a name that sounds like it belongs to a pet parrot.”

“Sorry, what was that, _Keef_?” Pidge laughed, hurrying ahead, and Keith didn’t feel hurt, possibly for the first time since showing up to the tiny beach town where every inside joke made him feel like more of an outsider. Then they rounded onto open ground, open skies, open seas and Keith barely had any time to think, to make sense of the sight before Pidge, squinting into the distance, whooped. “Come on, we’re gonna miss the best part!”

Pidge started running, ducking under a gate and across the concrete that opened up to sand, struggling to remove their shoes in their hurry. Confused, Keith could do nothing but stare, blinking. He had caught glimpses of the sea as Shiro drove them here but it was nothing like this, in front of him, the illusion of an arms-length away, the tiny town on the edge of what appeared to be the whole world. The sea breeze was a relief, cool and salty, but Keith could barely keep his eyes. He never imagined blue could be so blinding.

Pidge called out his name (properly this time) and he remembered to move, following them less enthusiastically but hurrying to catch up. Luckily for Pidge, his Vans slipped off easily, the most practical item out of his whole outfit, and then they were off again, Pidge hurtling across the sand towards the sea. For a moment, Keith wondered if he had been wrong about Pidge and they meant to lead him to his death. Then they stopped, waving their arms at two surfers in particular.

Keith hesitantly picked his way over, shoes dangling in one hand and the other constantly unpicking his t-shirt from his skin. The beach was mostly empty, vacation season not yet at full boom. Still, Keith already hated the sensation of the sand between his toes. But the closer he got to where the tide was pulling in, the cooler the air and the easier it was to breathe, to think. Pidge held their Converse by their laces and was cheering at deafening decibels. It was probably the only way the surfers could hear them from where they were engaged in what now appeared a contest of sorts.

It was hard to keep track when they moved, rising and dipping in time with waves, but Keith was just about able to distinguish between the two. The bigger of the two rode a mustard-coloured board and even from where Keith was stood, he could see him smiling widely. The other displayed less sportsmanship, slim and shouting every so often, riding a blue board. Keith didn’t know a thing about surfing but even he held his breath when the two readied themselves for an incoming wave, still whilst Pidge bounced on the balls of their feet. They watched as the one on the blue board paddled ahead, throwing what looked a smirk and a few words back at his comrade. Smiles gone, the yellow surfer followed behind and both lifted themselves onto their respective boards with practiced caution. Both surfers caught the waves and rode them, triumphant, and Pidge let out a cheer, almost clobbering Keith with their shoes. Even Keith felt his mouth twitch upwards, mostly in relief but the laughter from the two surfers was more infectious than he cared to admit.

They watched as the surfer on the yellow board dismounted, waving towards the other who remained standing. An unheard exchange carried on between them before the yellow surfer turned away, appearing to give up in favour of paddling back towards the shore. And Keith definitely knew a whole lot of nothing about surfing but even he wanted to close his eyes but was unable to as the blue surfer hollered something, unknowing to the incoming wave until its shadow knocked the smugness of his face and his feet off the board. Distance no object, the sound of his scream carried through the wind and Pidge laughed as the blue board and the surfer that was on top of it went under.

Pidge called out, “Way to go, Hunk!” and the yellow surfer, Hunk, emerged onto land, an impressive goliath of man glowing from the sea and sun, and gave Pidge a thumbs up. Show over, Pidge nudged Keith and gestured at a spot of sand further back that wasn’t wet from the tide. Keith followed, casting a single look over his shoulder and blowing out a breath at the sight of the blue surfer remerging. _Relief_ , he told himself again, _it’s only natural_. He had never been to the sea before.

Pidge sat back on the sand, head back, closing their eyes and wiggling their toes like a content cat. Keith joined them, lowering himself awkwardly to sit cross legged. He was glad he could sit down but even his lack of experience of the beach told him that he was not going to be truly comfortable again until he was under a showerhead. At the edge of the water, the blue surfer climbed out of the water less majestically than his partner, soaked to the bone and squared like he was walking into a fight. Instead, he kicked the water, a childish act that the yellow surfer accepted with hands up. Keith watched the two tussle without malice as they dragged their boards and themselves onto the sand. Everything was much too bright all at once. Keith closed his eyes too.

He heard more than saw their arrival. Their voices were so characteristic Keith knew which was which without looking, Hunk’s nervous laughter and protests against the other’s insistent pushing and snarky bargaining. _Best two out of three, what d’ya say pal? C’mon!_

Hunk asked, “You keeping count, Pidge?”

Keith opened one eye then both. Hunk was, thankfully, blocking the sun but when he smiled, Keith felt like he should have invested in some sunglasses. Pidge indicated numbers with their hands. “That’s three to you now, one to Lance.”

“Oh, come on!” the blue surfer, Lance, said. He dropped the arm around Hunk’s shoulders to put both hands on his hips, glaring down at Pidge. “The first one doesn’t even count. It was a practice go!”

“Excuses, excuses.”

“Yeah, face it, man.” Hunk sat down beside Keith, dragging a hand through his hair. “Your surfing needs work.”

Lance pouted, collapsing next to Pidge. “Your _face_ needs work- no, that was mean. I take it back. Hunk, your face is beautiful.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Hunk said dryly. He turned to Keith and mock-whispered, “Fair warning, he’s always like this.”

“Hey!” Lance protested. He then proceeded to shake out his wet hair on Pidge who groaned his name and had to take off their glasses to wipe them off on the edge of their shirt. Lance grinned, stretching.

Without either of them blocking the sun, Keith could look at them properly. Hunk was a big guy with a smile just as wide, made up of contrasts, the sharp whiteness of his teeth against his dark, rich complexion. He was built like a wrestler, his hair, even wet, stubbornly thick and black, and his brows just as powerful and yet there was an undeniable softness about him. Everything, from the roundness of the rolls of his stomach to the softness in his dark brown eyes, radiated warmth, like an evening sunset. He held a hand to his forehead and accepted a strip of orange cloth from Pidge’s pocket gratefully which he tied to his forehead, keeping his hair out of his eyes. He lived up to his name and Keith wondered if it was a nickname attributed to his handsomeness. It wouldn’t surprise him.

Hunk, noticing Keith staring, extended his hand. “I’m guessing you’re Shiro’s brother. Nice to meet ya. I’m Hunk.”

Keith took his hand. It was big and warm, just like the rest of his disposition. “Keith. You too. Uh, you guys looked great out there.”

Hunk grinned good-naturedly. “Don’t strain yourself. The tide isn’t that great right now but Lance here insisted. And got his ass handed back to him.”

Lance rolled his eyes and sighed with dramatic flourish, dropping back to lean on his elbows. “What is it, Everyone-Be-Mean-To-Poor-Ol’-Lance Day? Jeez. So I _miscalculated_.”

Lance, in contrast to Hunk, was sharp angles, nothing soft about him at first glance but then he closed his eyes and Keith could look again. His skin was smooth, brown and still wet, giving him a glossy sheen, like he was made of magazine paper. The subtle definition of muscles suggested he did more than get kicked off his surfboard by waves, not nearly as impressive as Hunk’s but if the competition was anything to go by, there was an explanation for that. Even so, Keith watched as water ran down his jawline, neck, collarbone and lower, down his torso, before Lance shifted to balance all his weight on one arm and the droplet was forced to change paths, falling like a teardrop onto the sand under Lance who lifted his hand to run his fingers through his hair, soft-looking and tufty even when wet, again. The longer strands of his hair curled upwards and he tugged at one as if this bothered him. When he opened his eyes again, Keith stared at the narrowness of their shape, the sharpness of his gaze. Keith looked away before he could be caught under it.

Pidge snorted. “You should have seen your face when that wave came for you. That was the fear of God being put back in you, my friend.”

“Next time,” Hunk said, slowly, thoughtfully, “you should video it.”

“Ooh, that’s a good idea, Hunk. The internet would love that.” Pidge held their arms out in front of them, fingers making a camera that was zoomed in on Lance’s face. From where Keith sat, Pidge was making a dramatic recording of Lance’s pursed mouth, the edge of what seemed to his default smirk softened to a puckered pout. “Local Teen Gets Slamdunked By Wave. What Happens Next Will Warm Your Heart.” Then Pidge let out what Keith could only describe as perhaps the evillest sound he had ever heard, an honest to God _cackle_ , and Lance swatted their hands away.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. I’ve still got the rest of the summer to kick your ass, Hunk, and ass kicking I will do.” Lance sat back up, clapped the sand off his palms and finally properly looked at Keith. It was that sharpness again that unsettled Keith, in his eyes and in the way his smile favoured one side. Keith wanted to look elsewhere to distract himself but the only droplet he could focus on dipped into and over the cupid bow of Lance’s lip before his tongue swiped out to catch it. “I don’t think we’ve had a proper introduction. Name’s Lance McClain.”

He said his name like he knew it would mean something. It did. Keith recalled the kitchen, the stories about people he didn’t know between people he didn’t know as well as he thought. _Suspicious couch_ Lance. _Damage control_ Lance. _Got Shiro lost in a town consisting of three buildings and two people, not including himself_ Lance McClain.

When he extended his hand, Keith took it. It was still damp from the ocean and a little sandy. “Keith.”

“So you’re Shiro’s brother.” Lance hadn’t let go, grip tight, eyes narrowing further to study Keith. “You guys don’t look alike.”

Keith had, in all honesty, been waiting for that observation. He figured he may as well get it out the way now and exhaled loudly. “I’m adopted.”

“Oh.” Lance dropped his hand. He didn’t look particularly apologetic and Keith found he preferred that. “Cool. You here for the whole summer?”

“Looks like it.”

“Sweet.” The grin was back. “Another witness to me surfing circles around Hunk.”

There were snorts of disbelief around the circle.

“Be real, Lance.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Around them, the beach was getting more business. The first stream of kids hurtled past them blindly, laughing and yelling which made Lance grumble even though he was doing the same just a while earlier. School was out for the day and Keith listened as the group commentated on people he didn’t know but was coming to, based on Pidge’s descriptions, Hunk’s directions and explanations and Lance’s impersonations which got sand kicked at him more often than not. But there was one person who Lance didn’t mimic but who made him jump to his feet so abruptly, Keith was left blinking at the shadow of him half landing on Keith.

“Don’t start, Lance,” Pidge warned but Lance stretched like he was about to go for a run. They rolled their eyes and muttered something that sounded like, “Your funeral,” and Keith almost smiled.

Hunk shuffled closer to Keith, nudging him with the same arm he pointed towards a figure jogging along the beach. It was a woman, clad in a bright, red swimsuit which would probably have looked ridiculous on anyone less beautiful. Her hair, a pastel colour so light it looked white, was put up in a bun and her skin was a touch darker than Hunk’s. Around her neck hung a whistle that bounced as she ran. Hunk lowered his voice to a whisper. “For the record, faking drowning doesn’t work. Lance tried. Five times.”

Keith looked away, at Hunk and how close he was and blinked. “Huh?”

Hunk stared at him for a long moment then leant back, shrugging. “Never mind.”

Lance, who had been mysteriously silent for a while, had obviously been reserving energy in his lungs, enough to holler, “Hey, Princess!”

The woman didn’t stop at the call (Keith even thought that she picked up her pace a little) but then Lance yelled, “Check it out. Shiro’s baby bro is here,” and she faltered to look over. At least half the beach on this side had heard Lance’s announcement and Keith felt a little bit like an animal on show in a zoo.

Then his eyebrows furrowed, realising. “Baby bro… wait. How old are you guys?”

“Sixteen,” Pidge said, confirming Keith’s earlier speculations.

“Me and Lance are eighteen,” Hunk said, just as Lance leant down, hands on his knees, joining the conversation and giving the beach an eyeful of his backside. Hunk let out an exasperated _dude, seriously?_ but Lance ignored him.

“Yeah, we’re all heading to college after summer,” he said, jerking his head towards Pidge, “including kid genius over there.”

Pidge pushed their glasses further up their nose, a deliberate pose. “Skipped a few grades, no biggie.”

“Tell that to my _mom_.”

Keith said nothing, grateful he didn’t have to because the woman had crossed the distance between them at an impressive time. She was even more radiant up close, her features delicate and pointed and her eyes a blue that reflected the sea but clearer, easy to fall into. She smiled at Keith but still, he was finding it hard to focus with Lance attempting to imitate a range of poses resembling ancient statues on the edge of his vision which she ignored, a perfected practice that Keith envied. It was her accent that demanded his attention again, a strong, regal air surrounding her when she spoke, though no less friendly. “Ah, you must be Keith. Shiro’s told me so much about you!”

Keith didn’t know what to say to that. “Yeah, uh, nice to meet you…”

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Allura. If you need anything at all, do let me know.” She paused, thinking. “Though Shiro’s always too stubborn to ask. Does it run in the family?”

Keith definitely didn’t know how to respond to _that_. “Uh, maybe? And thanks, I appreciate it.”

Yelling from the sea caught Allura’s attention and she turned towards it and Keith, from his position on the floor, realised what the authority of Allura’s demeanour meant. She was a lifeguard. She looked down at him once more with a smile. “I best be going.” Then her smile withered into a grimace as she glanced over her shoulder at Lance, who had been attempting a praying mantis pose (which seemed to be more for the amusement of Hunk and Pidge than it was to floor Allura.) Her tone was dry. “Try not to cause too much trouble for the newcomer, Lance.”

Lance straightened up and saluted her. “No promises, Princess.”

He resumed a slouch as soon as Allura turned to continue her run, bending down so his face was very suddenly, very close to Keith’s face. Keith barely contained a yelp. His eyes were as wide as Lance’s were narrowed. He was so close, the scent of the sea was almost overpowering. “When she says anything, that does _not_ include her number. Got it?”

“Uh…” More often than not, Keith found himself at loss at what to say to any of these people.

“Come on, cut it out, you loser.” For good measure, Pidge punctuated their words with a push that knocked Lance off balance enough that he was no longer in Keith’s face. A different kind of relief. Lance fell back on the sand, half-deliberate. “Lance has been trying to charm Allura for years now without much success. He’s even faked drowning,” Pidge said, explanatory. They paused. “Five times.”

“End of summer,” Lance said confidently. He had resumed a position of relaxation, head back and eyes closed as the wind combed through his hair gently. When he smiled into the sun, Keith looked away. “By the end of this summer, I will have had the whirlwind romance they make movies about.”

“Did we mention Lance also has terrible taste in films?” Pidge murmured to Keith.

Lance opened his eyes to point an accusing finger at Pidge. “You take that back!”

Keith watched them bicker back and forth about movies and questions of taste and a lot of it didn’t make sense to him, not because it was pop culture he was inept in but every word was packed with significance, like sofas and wheat fields and _Lance McClain is back at it again_. Friends forever. Keith was running out of places to look so he focused on the waterdrops that still clung to Lance’s eyelashes. The sun was high in the sky and Keith wondered if Lance was seeing rainbows in a town where it never rained.

Finally, Hunk cut through, verbally and physically by waving his hand between the two. “Hey, maybe we should exchange numbers.”

Lance blinked. “Hunk, buddy, if you haven’t got my number after, what, sixteen years of friendship, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I meant with _Keith_.”

“Oh. _Oh_. Sure.” He said it with the same lazy indifference as he had responded to Keith and Shiro being brothers not by blood. This time, Keith had to make a conscious effort to not be annoyed by it, to snap that he didn’t want his number anyway, that he hadn’t come to a beach town on the edge of nowhere away from everything he had known and the few things he had held dear to _make friends_.

But then Pidge dug up their phone with a Pokémon charm dangling from it and predetermined Keith’s name on it as _Keef_ and Hunk had to retype his name twice and phone number three times because he was too excited his big fingers couldn’t contain themselves on a phone that looked pathetically small in comparison. Lance took a suspicious amount of time typing out his details but when he handed the phone back, Keith saw that he had put the smiling devil emoji next to his name and for some reason, Keith simply pressed ‘Done.’

Later, Keith would find a terribly angled selfie with awful lighting from the sun at the back of Lance but it illuminated everything. It captured Lance’s face struggling to be subtle, lips quirked and eyes elsewhere (on Keith, watching in case he noticed) and for some reason, maybe the same reason, _whatever reason_ , Keith didn’t delete it.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keith isn't here to make friends he's here to be america's next top emo


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my wifi broke as soon as i tried to post this. a sign  
> anyway hey thanks to all those who kudos/commented on chapter one!!! y'all are the real mvps  
> enjoy this chapter and as always let me know what you think! ♡  
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/reaperapologist)  
> [tumblr](http://www.akingdomorthis.tumblr.com)  
> 

“Toto,” Lance said, mouth at Keith’s ear, “I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.”

Hunk elbowed him and Lance yelped, jumping back. Hunk put the cooler he was holding down and gestured with arms outstretched. “Well, here it is,” he announced. “Summer time beach season.”

“Otherwise known as  _hell_ ,” Pidge added, wrinkling their nose.

Keith looked out at the sight of the beach the busiest it had ever been. School was finally out and everyone in a hundred-mile radius had decided to celebrate. Otherwise (what Keith had come to learn) quiet Altea was booming, mismatched cars parked across the concrete, umbrellas on the beach and heads bopping up and down in the water.

Then he looked at his companions. Hunk and Lance were in swim shorts, without shirts, and over the few days he’d spent with them, Keith had learnt details, how they wore matching bead necklaces and were ready to run into the sea at a moment’s notice (Hunk carried a spare shirt, Lance didn’t.) Keith’s t-shirt today was a dark blue and he would have felt almost self-conscious, overdressed in the sun, but Pidge wore a stripy tank top and a Pokémon cap. Up this close, Keith could see freckles on Lance, some that weren’t there yesterday or the day before or the day before that. Emerging constellations as the night sky cleared. There was a stripe off sunscreen across Pidge’s nose and Keith had watched, horrified, as Hunk and Lance did each other’s backs. When Hunk extended his assistance to Keith, he shook his head quickly.

It was a circle of hell, alright.

Again, Lance wedged himself between Hunk and Keith. It was impressive how he always managed to take them by surprise. “Last one there is a rotten egg!” he challenged and started running towards the sand, arms wide and bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“What are you, ten?” Pidge yelled but launched themselves after him in chase. Nearby families started at Lance’s hollering and Pidge kicking up sand to catch up with him, strangers gaping and locals giggling. Keith had come to learn that this was how life was here in Altea.

“Hey! No fair!” Hunk called after them, retrieving the cooler from the floor but he didn’t look like he was in any hurry to follow them. He glanced over at Keith, who was holding two beach umbrellas in his arms, and shrugged. “Guess we’re sitting this one out, buddy.”

“Does he always do this?” Keith asked, dryly. They began to make their way down to the sand.

“Oh, yeah. Ever since we were kids.” Hunk grinned. “He refuses to play video games with Pidge because he’s such a sore loser.”

Keith recalled Lance’s words of  _what, sixteen years of friendship_. “You’ve known him a long time, right?”

“Virtually all our lives.” They both split up to navigate around a child making a sandcastle. When they were side by side again, Hunk carried on, “Our moms are friends too and he lived right next door. It made sense for us to become the best of friends, don’t you think?” At that, he laughed, a warm, fond sound.

But Keith was struggling to understand. In the few days he had spent with the trio, he had come to admire Pidge’s straight-forward – if blunt – nature and appreciate Hunk’s kindness, too genuine to smother (until he hugged you.) The two led him through the town, filling in the gaps of names of places with missing letters in their signs and allowing Keith to learn  _of_  them (of the two of them, not  _St ‘s  hips_ ) as much as from them without having to say much at all. Pidge was calculative without malice. Hunk was sweet but far from naïve. They were both smart to an impressive level.

Lance, on the other hand, was a straight up fool. Crass, self-absorbed and just plain idiotic at times. Where Hunk and Pidge were, so was he but he contributed little to the tour experience other than flirting with locals and strangers alike, forgetting where he was or what they set out to do until Pidge pulled at his ear to bring him back to earth. Once, Hunk simply picked his friend up under his arm and walked away. Lance had been unable to shake free and, in a desperate last minute attempt, he had reeled off digits at the girl outside the florist. Shay, who worked there and was sweeping out at front, sighed but gave Hunk a shy but grateful smile and Hunk had almost dropped Lance in response.

But the worst part was that Lance got his own phone number  _wrong_.

Still, it was undeniable that whatever reason Lance decided to grace his presence on the rest of the town as they explored it, Keith wasn’t it. They rarely spoke, even as Lance moved around him, slipping between the group like water (and the touch always made the sweat soaked hair at the back of Keith’s neck stand up.) But Keith was, to Lance, an afterthought, like Keith’s number on his phone. And yet he couldn’t say the feeling was mutual because Lance was always in the corner of his vision, loud and stubborn and  _there_ , every day, without fail, rushing ahead, pulling back, crashing between his friends at his own rhythm.

Maybe that was why there were moments where the selfie in Keith’s camera roll felt heavy in his pocket and maybe he would never get it but there was a charm to Lance that made it seem like he carried the town, for the fun of it, to be their victor. Every local had something to say about Lance McClain, whether it was to ask how his mom is doing, to tell him he should have got his ear pierced on the other side, to simply say  _Lance_  in a tone reserved for him, equal parts exasperated and affectionate even from girls from high school who were used to not taking his advances seriously. Keith couldn’t place what it was until he saw how Lance teased Pidge only to get completely obliterated back and he would throw himself at Hunk who would soothe his ego until he said another terrible thing and then even Hunk would drop him (sometimes literally.) They indulged him, they moderated him but it was obvious that they loved him. There was something central to Lance’s presence in the town, constant. It was wrong to imagine even upsetting it.

By now, Keith and Hunk had reached the spot where Lance and Pidge had collapsed, the former flat on his back on the sand and the latter sat on a blanket they had the foresight to roll out. Both had put on sunglasses so it was hard to tell but it looked like they had their eyes closed. Hunk put the cooler down and took one umbrella from Keith, put it up and then the other. Feeling the shade upon his face, Lance jolted upright. “Pidge, Hunk, Keith,” he said, entirely seriously. “Make me into a sexy mermaid.”

And okay, maybe Keith didn’t understand Lance after all. Hunk sat down and cracked open the cooler. He tossed Pidge a coke can then Keith. Keith took it even though he wasn’t particularly thirsty. Pidge said, “Make yourself into one. We’re busy.”

Lance lifted the sunglasses from his eyes to squint between them all, Hunk pushing his own shades down, Pidge clutching their can and Keith pressing his own to the side of his face, welcoming the chill. “Oh, yeah? Doing  _what_?”

As if on cue, Hunk and Pidge both opened their cans and took a long gulp. Then Hunk answered, “Chilling.”

Lance simply said, “I hate you guys sometimes,” and rolled over onto his stomach. Hunk and Pidge clicked cans.

Per usual, the group spent the next ten minutes people watching (“Tourist edition,” Pidge clarified, “Beach babe hunting,” Lance corrected and Hunk took some ice from the cooler to slap to the back of Lance’s neck. Lance jumped up, yelping.) There were some faces familiar to the trio, regulars from the town over who came every year, and some strangers who they invented stories for, the other two joining Lance in his acts. Mostly, the beach was full of people like them, trying to capture the endless feeling of summer on the horizon where the sea felt infinite. Keith couldn’t see it.

Instead, Lance took up the entirety of his vision, nudging him with his leg to  _move over a little, would’ja?_ When Keith did, Lance flopped down next to him like a fish out the water. The blanket was a little on the small size for the two of them to fit comfortably but Lance leant back on his palms like he didn’t have a care in the world. Keith imagined he didn’t.

“Thanks, dude,” he said, almost an afterthought as always except he used a finger to push his sunglasses down his nose to look at Keith. His grin was as lazy as he felt, languid beside Keith.

Keith nodded, stared down at the can between his palms, popped open the tab and took a long gulp.

“Hey,” Hunk said, pointing, “is that Shiro?”

Sure enough, the lifeguard post had not one but two figures in red by it. Allura, her hair in plaits today, was chatting to Shiro who had one eye on the beach. During the course of the week, every time he saw Allura, Keith had to swallow rocks at her kindness. He understood why now, the connection between the obvious familiarity between his brother and Allura and her assurances to Keith that  _I’m here if you need to talk about anything. Anything at all_.

It was like Matt. It was  _knowing_. It was nauseating.

As if he could hear Keith’s thoughts, Shiro noticed them. He smiled and waved. Pidge and Hunk waved back. A nearby group of girls started giggling. Keith noticed that the sound fell deaf on Lance’s normally attentive ears. His attention was entirely on the lifeguards.

“Oh, come on,” Lance said, tone disbelieving. He had pulled his sunglasses off and tossed them aside. “That’s just not fair!”

Keith looked back at his brother and his friend to understand. Shiro had turned back to Allura and was rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously (an old habit.) She punched his arm, friendly but it almost looked like it hurt. Shiro massaged the spot and offered his other arm (an old joke) and they both laughed.

But whatever Lance was seeing, Keith couldn’t. He had, over the week, learned that Lance had a crush on at least half of the female population in town and was weirdly proud of it (which Keith supposed was understandable – he had witnessed a world record number of rejections in the space of four days after all.) Allura was just one of them.

But hell, maybe even  _Lance McClain_  knew his brother better than he did.

Hunk patted Lance’s back. Ignoring Lance, Pidge said, “Yeah, seems like they’re putting him to work for the season.”

The discussion became about beach season and lifeguard rotations and people Keith didn’t know but who had guarded tourist summers before him from the sounds of it. All the while, everyone regarded Shiro every so often, Hunk in awe, Pidge in calculation and Lance still incredulous and something almost  _wistful_. Keith would never have thought of Lance as the lifeguard type but it did make sense in some universe. It was hard to imagine him pursuing it for the safety and security of the beachgoing population but it was all too easy to picture Lance in those ridiculous red shorts, abusing the power of his whistle and the seat at the top of the beach. Perhaps what was most concerning about Lance’s character was that it was vivid in your thoughts no matter where you were, no matter that Keith had only known him for a handful of days but he could picture, above all, Lance defending why he became lifeguard, complete with a performative example of his naturally heroic nature.  _What’s more noble than this, huh, Keith?_  he would say, arms cradling an imaginary ‘beach babe’ like they were dancing the tango and Lance had a rose trapped between his grin.  _Just call me Poseidon, god of the sea_.

The real Lance, sat beside Keith, was bouncing his leg up and down. The tic made Keith just as restless. He sat on his hands. Lance got up abruptly and announced, “Let’s go put ol’ Shiro to practice then.”

Pidge squinted up at him. “Faking drowning doesn’t work, remember?”

Lance’s face flushed. “Shut up. I just wanna swim.”

“I’m game.” Hunk dusted off his hands and knees as he got to his feet too.

Pidge shook their head and waved a hand towards the sea. “I’m gonna sit this one out. You guys go ahead.”

Hunk was smiling warmly. It was only when he spoke that Keith realised he was smiling at him. “You coming, Keith?”

Keith blinked and shook his head. His jeans were sticking to his skin which he would have thought to be self-explanatory but they were all looking at him.  _Waiting_. Lance’s whole body was jittery now. Impatient. Keith’s only reason: “I don’t have swim shorts.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Dude, for real? Your hut is like two minutes away. Go get ‘em!”

“No, I mean.” He paused, awkward. Around him, the beach was full of bared skin, people with bodies that went in and out in all sorts of places and acne on their back and stretchmarks that looked like lightning striking a tree. People with freckles, skin opening up like sunflowers. He blurted out, “I don’t own any. At all.”

They all stared at him.

Lance was, unsurprisingly, the one to finally speak. “Uh, one question.  _Why?_ ”

And maybe it was the heat getting to him or the way Lance couldn’t stand still even for a second but Keith felt irritation surge through him like a violent current in his bloodstream. “Because people in cities have never seen the open sea in their life, Lance. Why else?” he snapped then stood up. He didn’t bother brushing off the sand from his jeans. “It’s fine. I’m gonna go take a walk.”

He was almost out of earshot when the trio reacted. Pidge spoke first. “What crab bit his butt?”

Lance made a dismissive noise. “Maybe he just doesn’t like stripping off.”

Keith’s fingernails dug into his palms. He picked up the pace, even though he had nowhere to go but  _away_.

He ended up in front of the beach shop, a little shack with a shiny sign announcing  _Coran’s Castle_ , accompanied with an illustration of a sandcastle. Keith had to part inflatable flamingos and felt ridiculous when his simmering anger almost knocked one into the man inside the shop.

“Whoa there!” the man said as he ducked.

Keith felt his face heat up. “Sorry.”

The shop clerk rose back to full height. He wore a topless cap, a tank top and the most impressive moustache Keith had ever seen. When he smiled, Keith couldn’t take his eyes off it (his moustache, which was practically his mouth.) “Not to worry, not to worry!”

Then his smile disappeared (but his moustache didn’t) and Keith almost took a step back until the man said, “Ah, you must be Keith.”

Keith cast a glance at the busy beach, squinting in the harsh light. Despite how busy it was, it was easy to spot Lance and Hunk in the water. Then he looked back to the man. “How’d you know?”

“Allura mentioned your arrival.” He was smiling again. Keith tried not to visibly tense. “I’m Coran. How’re you finding Altea?”

“It’s…” The sun was high in the sky and the noise around him felt like it was part of the humidity, pressing against him even though Coran’s shack was tucked away nicely from the crowds. He thought about Pidge’s Pokémon cap and Hunk’s smile and felt silly for storming off, now. He should have known it would have never amounted to much in a town where the sun always shone.  _We're not in Kansas anymore_. Pathetically, he supplied Coran with the word, “warm.”

Coran eyed him. “I have some trunks if you need them. They come in a range of colours.”

Keith considered it, if only to shut Lance up but immediately scrapped the thought. “I’ll pass. Can I have a bottle of water instead?”

“Got it.” Coran turned to grab a bottle and then placed it on the counter. When Keith dug into the pockets of his jeans for loose change, Coran shook his head. “On the house. Just this once. Welcome to Altea, Keith.”

Like Allura, his gaze was kind but curious. A handsome man with ginger hair and a smiley moustache who owned a busy beach shop. He had probably seen his fair share of ticking bombs rolled onto the sand. He had been quick to dodge, after all.

“Thanks.” Keith took the bottle with a nod goodbye and turned away, away from the beach shop and from where (even from this distance, Keith could see) Hunk and Lance were splashing each other like children. He headed for the rocks.

He passed groups of teenagers, huddling around stolen cigarettes and glaring at Keith until he looked through them and they turned back to sharing a half broken lighter. It took some walking to find rocks that weren’t occupied by people exploring or needing somewhere far from the family friendly beach to get high. Keith declined a well-meaning offer to join and kept walking. Somewhere along the way the noise of the beach was drowned out by the sea. The waves weren't particularly turbulent but Keith was alone. He sat down on a rock he could hang his feet off and unscrewed the lid of the bottle to tip it back over his head. The water was lukewarm at best but he welcomed it, pulling the elastic band from his hair to shake it out.

There was probably a reason why no one came this far out, the rocks dwindling and less stable but Keith didn’t mind. He was away from the crowds and it no longer hurt so bad to even just  _think_. He tried to clear a path with his gaze alone to the centre of the spot which hosted a small rock pool and wondered if there was anything living in it. But the rocks felt so quiet Keith could only imagine the world’s loneliest bugs residing here and that made him think of Shiro’s fear of them and how, even with the sound of the ocean in his ears, this was almost familiar. It made Keith feel calm.  _Almost._

And then the rhythm was disrupted. Keith looked at the sea just a few rocks below him and started at the sight of something- no,  _someone_  emerging from the waters. He half rose, one hand pressed to the rock in balance and the other holding his hair out his eyes, to take a closer look.

The water broke. A loud gasp for air. A shake of the head. Keith remembered why he had come to the rocks in the first place.

“ _What are you doing?_ ”

Lance’s grin wavered. He leant his folded arms over the water like it was the most natural thing in the world. “What’s it look like? Swimming!”

When Keith just stared at him, Lance swam over. Keith watched, in barely suppressed horror, as Lance lifted himself out by the rocks. He didn’t look particularly worried but every time he reached for a new rock to cling onto, Keith held his breath, needless anxiety in case Lance’s wet hands slipped. As if he'd fall and the sea would swallow him whole. As if Lance didn’t have a stubborn track record of rising out of the waves.

When Lance was close enough that Keith could reach out, he didn’t. Lance resumed a position of laziness, arms crossed, hanging off the edge dangerously. Then he peered at Keith. “Wait, why are you wet?”

Keith almost considered reaching out now, if only to push Lance off. Instead, he sat back, cross legged, and gathered his hair back into a ponytail. His skin felt flushed, self-conscious. He probably hadn’t worn enough sunscreen. “Why are you here?”

Lance gave one last push and sat down beside Keith, stretching his legs. He shrugged. His smile was easy. “Wanted to make sure the newbie hadn’t split his head open on the rocks, s’all.”

Keith huffed. “I’ve seen rocks before, Lance.”

Lance blinked with feigned innocence and droplets fell from his lashes like tears. “Cities have dirt? News to me.”

It was a joke, dripping with sarcasm. And something else that made Keith feel like he  _should_  feel bad. He did, a little.

“Me and Takashi used to backpack.” He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe because it was somehow easier than apologising. “So rock climbing isn’t new to me.” What was unsaid was  _the rest of this is_.

Lance hummed. “Coran has harnesses. He only lends them out to folk he knows won’t go and get themselves killed though.” It was implied Keith was one of those people. “Coran is the guy that owns the beach shop, by the way.”

“I know. I met him earlier.”

“He’s like Allura’s whacky uncle. Legend has it he was born with that moustache.”

Keith tugged at his own shirt, now an uncomfortable mix of water damp and sticky with sweat. Lance stared at the movement with narrowed eyes then leant back, mock casual. “You know… no one’s here ‘cept me. You don’t have to be so shy, dude. No judgement in these rocks.”

Keith stared disbelievingly at him. “I’m  _not_ afraid of taking my clothes off.”

There was a pause then Lance blinked and his grin widened. “Good to know.”

“I didn’t have time to get any summer clothes.” Lance opened his mouth again but Keith intercepted. “And before you say it, no, it’s never sunny in the city. Do I look like I’ve seen the fucking sun before?”

Lance laughed. It was a quieter sound here or maybe it was just that he was usually so loud because it was the one way to be heard over the crowds the town drew in. He gave Keith a side-long glance. “Pidge was right. You’re a lot angrier on the inside.”

“Yeah, well.” Keith had forgotten to put sunscreen on the back of his neck.

Lance shrugged again and stood up. Briefly, the sun was shadowed and Keith exhaled in relief.  “It’s fine. I was starting to think you had the emotional range of a spoon.” Lance jumped over to another rock and punctuated “nice to know it’s more like a knife” with a wink and finger-guns.

Indignance made Keith speak without thinking. “Yeah and what are you compensating for?”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Who said I was compensating for anything?” He waggled both and gestured at himself from top to bottom. “This is all one hundred per cent natural Lance McClain goodness, baby.”

Keith gave him a flat look.

“Ouch, tough crowd, huh? I didn’t want it to come to this but I guess you leave me no choice, Keith.” Lance reached for the waistband of his swim shorts.

“Please don’t.”

“Jeez, dude. Don’t need to sound so discouraging. Judgement free rocks, remember?” But Lance was laughing, words light-hearted but fingers still hooked under his waistband like a threat. He raised his other hand to shield his eyes and look out at the sea, far enough now that his shadowed gaze was impossible for Keith to decipher. Then he announced, “I’m gonna head back.”

“Okay.”

Lance lowered his hand and there it was, that self-assured smirk curled around the words, the taunt, “You ready for this, city boy?”

By the time Keith realised what Lance was about to do, he was already running. Keith jumped to his feet just as Lance dove over, body a practiced curve that hit the water like it was coming home. When Lance resurfaced, Keith let out a breath. Lance waved. “See you back at the mainland!”

Keith watched him swim away, the sun glinting on the water and in his eyes. He wanted, suddenly, to call out, call Lance back and say  _the sun shines in cities but not like this_.

*

Keith had been channel surfing aimlessly when a woman marched into the house carrying a box with a plate balanced precariously on top of it, closely followed by Shiro who had to navigate awkwardly through the door because two small children were attached to his biceps. “Mrs McClain,” he was saying, “you didn’t have to-”

“Shiro,” she said, cutting him off with a no nonsense tone. She put the box down on the kitchen counter and turned to Shiro with her hands on her hips. It wasn’t like with Matt and Pidge but the resemblance, at that moment, was striking. Lance had his mother’s slender limbs and her narrow eyes, had her freckly sun-kissed skin and her mannerisms, head cocked to the side and words like bullets. “How many times have I told you? No one in this town makes me do a damn thing.”

Shiro winced and one of the children clinging to him slipped away, over to Mrs McClain with a tiny palm outstretched. The little boy had her curls and Lance’s smirk except one of his front teeth was missing. He said, “You said a bad word. Pay up.”

His mother stared at him for a moment. He didn’t back down. Stubbornness was a McClain family trait too, it seemed.

Finally she settled with a dismissive wave of a hand. “Shoo, you.” It was at this point that she noticed Keith, still sat on the sofa. When she grinned, Keith was reminded of sharing a beach blanket with Lance. Keith stood up and she didn’t take her eyes off him as she spoke. “Ah, he’s here. Did I not tell you, Shiro? I told you. My Lance is home, Keith will be too.”

She wasn’t expecting a response. Instead, Shiro was leaning down to scoop the little girl – curly hair like the rest of the McClains and freckles all over – still latched onto him into his arms. She squealed happily, catching the attention of the boy who yelled “hey, not fair!” and ran back over. Shiro smiled, a little hopelessly, at Keith, pressing a hand atop the boy’s head to ruffle his hair. “I was on my way to go get groceries when I ran into Mrs McClain and these two,” he explained.

“And it’s a good job our paths crossed or else- Lili, Enrique, can both of you stop hounding Shiro  _please_?” Mrs McClain rolled her eyes, shooting Shiro an apologetic glance but he didn’t seem to mind the attention very much. “I was planning to make dinner for the first night Keith got here but it’s been so hectic, what with it being the last week of school and holiday season kicking in and all that. Anyway, better late than never and  _hey,_   _enough_. Get over here. Both of you. Come say hi to Keith. He’s Shiro’s brother.”

Keith had learnt that Lance had two moods when it came to family.  _Tell that to my mom_  and  _please don’t tell my mom_. He was quickly understanding why.

Unlike Shiro, he was not so well-versed with children. Lili and Enrique wandered over, Lili dragging her feet behind Enrique and ducking her head shyly when Keith looked at her. Enrique had no such reservations, squinting up at Keith with such a familiar look that Keith half expected the words  _you don’t look like Shiro_  to come out of his mouth – in Lance’s voice, no less. Mrs McClain said their names again and her own but Keith would rather step in a gap in the floorboards with bare feet than be on first name basis with  _Lance’s mother_. Behind the McClains, Shiro was peeling back the tinfoil on the plate. He whistled softly and said, “You’re really spoiling us here, Mrs McClain. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

She waved him off. “One day, Shiro, your politeness will be the death of you. You know how things work around here. Besides, it’s the least I can do.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve done more than enough, Mrs McClain.”

“Please, Shiro, there’s no such thing. And the box is from Lance, by the way. I asked him to come along but- well, you know how teenage boys can be.” She winked at Keith. He barely noticed. Suddenly the box on the counter that had seemed odd but forgettable was a glowing beacon.

Shiro was unable to keep the surprise from his tone. “From Lance?”

“They’re just some old shirts and shorts. It seems like he was having some concerns about how Keith was handling the hot weather. In jeans, no less. I imagine you didn’t have much time to go shopping before you…” She trailed off and Keith realised that it was probably very likely that every adult in Altea knew. To Mrs McClain’s defence, she recovered quickly, chattering on about storage and cleaning the basement and how Lance got away with it every summer but  _not this year, by God_.

It was hard to get a word in edgeways. Shiro came to stand by Keith and gave him another one of those helpless glances. Mrs McClain was probably right. Shiro’s downfall  _would_  be his kindness. Eventually, he interrupted her. “I was planning to take him shopping this weekend but the beach filled up faster than we thought it would. Anyway, thanks, Mrs McClain.” He put a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Tell Lance we appreciate it.”

Keith took the box into his bedroom while Shiro saw the McClains out. He didn’t turn on the light and didn’t open it, simply placing it on the bed and listening out for the door to close. There must be something in the McClain blood, Keith deducted, that made them as overwhelming as they were memorable.

When Keith braved leaving his room, he returned to Shiro alone, distributing whatever Mrs McClain had made – a mixture of meat and vegetables – into even portions for himself, Keith and reasonable leftovers. Keith sat at the counter to eat while Shiro stood by the sink with his bowl. Neither spoke for a while, savouring the food (it was really good) and the peace.

Then, with feigned casualness, Shiro said, “So you guys looked like you were having fun today.”

“Fun,” Keith repeated flatly.

“What?” Shiro said, half-sarcastic. “You too old to have fun now?”

“You make it sound like we’re kids and by default, that makes you sound old, Takashi.”

“Sometimes” – Shiro’s voice dropped to a stage whisper – “I even wheeze when I run.”

Keith snorted. The  _almost_  feeling was back. Shiro smiled. “But I’m glad you’re getting on with the locals.” He chewed on another mouthful before adding, “Surprised to hear about Lance though.”

Keith tensed. He had expected this much after seeing the box and yet when he took his next bite, his fork knocked against his teeth. “What about him?”

Shiro’s body seemed defensive, his words tentative. “Nah, he’s a good kid. It’s just…”

Keith braced himself. “Just what?”

“Just…” Helpless looks but Keith was no help this time. “You must have made a hell of an impression if Lance McClain wants to impress you.”

There was a long silence. Keith had been wrong about breaking the peace. It had never been fixed in the first place. He put down his fork. “You know I don’t want to be here, right?”

He saw Shiro swallow. “Keith-”

“I don’t want to be here,” Keith repeated, words dragging out like all the years between the two brothers, “in this commercial getaway where all the locals are on nickname basis and it’s weird to not wear swim shorts for underwear. I don’t want to be special, Takashi.”

“I know.” The helpless look on Shiro’s face just made Keith angrier.

“I wanna go home.”

Shiro put down his bowl. “This isn’t a prison sentence, Keith.”

Keith didn’t give him the chance to come closer. “You were right about the sea. I can see it from my room too. It’s all I can see.” In horizons, in eyes. Keith laughed, a hallow sound like an empty shell. “This whole town is a prison.”

Shiro had always been good at calming him down. “We don’t have to talk about this right now.”

Maybe that was why Keith was so determined to be anything but  _calm_. Spite made his tongue sharp. “Yeah, it seems you’re talking plenty about me to the humble residents of Altea anyway.”

They both stood, staring at each other, a line between them that had been quietly crossed by bringing Keith here, by starting this conversation at all. There would be a lot of leftovers tonight. Keith walked past Shiro and back to his room.

Again, he didn’t turn the light on. He stood with his back to the closed door and considered the box like a thief in his own room.  _His bedroom_. He wanted to kick the box off his bed but he wanted, more, for it to not be  _his_  bed at all.

Almost automatically, Keith dug out his phone from his pocket, scrolled through his contacts and put it to his ear.

Lance picked up on the sixth ring. Leisurely. “What’s cookin’, Keith?”

“I don’t want your charity.”

There was the sound of shuffling like bed sheets. “Huh?”

Keith closed his eyes and held very still. Bracing himself. He always was. “You heard me. I don’t need your clothes.”

Lance didn’t say anything for a long time. Keith could hear him breathing.

Then, “No,” Lance said slowly, “what you need is some manners.”

Keith was used to punches and venom. He didn’t know how to react when Lance’s voice washed over him like a bucket of ice water, an electric shock to his blood. It didn’t stop there. “Well, tough luck, nice guy. A McClain family handout is a life sentence. You wanna sail the box out to sea then be my guest but I’m not gonna explain to my mom that the box is back in our basement because Shiro’s little brother is a jackass that wouldn’t know a nice act even if it came out of the ocean and punched him in the goddamn face.”

And then Lance hung up.

Keith put the box on the desk, kicked off his shoes and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pidge: cracking open a cold one with the boys


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to all 3 of you that read this fic i'm a garb person that got distracted by real life but i finished up some deadlines this week and celebrated by watching doukyuusei and then wrote like 4k in one sitting. thank you based BL gods  
> i can't even judge if this chap is any good but i hope you enjoy it!!!! let me know what you think!!!!!  
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/reaperapologist)  
> [tumblr](http://www.akingdomorthis.tumblr.com)  
> p.s. i haven't even watched s4. voltron? who is she

Keith couldn’t focus.

He knew where he was. Or at least, he _knew_ he knew. But there was something about his vision that was off, tilting side to side as his hands and feet followed the familiar pattern of rising up. It was like he had water in his eyes. Blurry. His foot slipped, almost, as if wet. He stopped and caught his breath. Up ahead, the top of the cliff wasn’t far. He heard, rather than saw, Shiro reach it, the huff and puff of exertion as he lifted himself onto solid ground. Keith realised the dampness on his fingers and the droplets in his eyes were sweat.

_Almost. Familiar. Almost. Familiar._

Keith craned his head to see Shiro leaning over the edge. He didn’t block the sun and his face was shadowed but he was watching Keith and he didn’t know what came first: the look of helplessness on his brother’s face or the falling. But Keith didn’t hit the ground.

Now there was water in his eyes, in his clothes, into his open mouth. He was still falling, sinking, flailing to stop, fingertips desperate for the feeling of rock in his hands and dirt underneath his fingernails, desperate to hold onto something, _anything_ \- Someone ( _he knew he knew he knew_.) Arms that wrapped around his but he fought it. He had to ( _another body like an anchor_.) And then all he could do was watch, helpless ( _is this how Shiro feels?_ ) as every inch of their skin turned into stars that were rising, hitting the top of the water like a night sky ( _dark, like the sun had never shone in the first place_ ) but all Keith felt was endlessness, loneliness, falling falling falling-

Keith woke with a start. It had only been a dream but he coughed like his lungs were filled with water. His throat, dry, protested. It took him a moment to register that he had awoken on the floor and another to realise that the sound he was hearing wasn’t repeatedly hitting it. Closer than the sound of the sea. Someone was at the door.

Rising to his feet shakily, Keith kicked his blanket out of the way as he followed the uneven knocks, a drumbeat he couldn’t decipher with his heartbeat in one ear and the ocean rushing in the other. Shiro’s blender was on the counter like clockwork, a dark pink. Frustration made Keith swing the door open with more force than necessary.

Three sets of eyes blinked at him. Keith realised, self-consciously, that he had very much literally rolled out of bed- or rather, fallen out of it.

When he didn’t speak, Hunk cleared his throat. “Whoa, you okay there, buddy?”

“Yeah, uh… why are you guys here?”

Hunk seemed to be struggling to answer this question. “Why?” he repeated, casting a worried glance at his companions.

Pidge sighed. “You weren’t answering our texts and Lance-” Without subtly and so typically, Lance – who had been the first to look away when Keith opened the door – elbowed Pidge in the side. They glared at him. “Hey!”

Lance continued to stare off into the distance, towards the sea. Keith wished looking at him didn’t feel like stepping on sharp rocks, like it would hurt less to fall.

Pidge finished their explanation, clarifying, “ _We_ were worried.”

When Keith simply continued to blink at that, at the words as foreign as everything else felt in Altea, Hunk elaborated, “Like, in case you had sun stroke or something? You really should wear less.”

Keith recalled Lance’s teasing about the matter. The rocks of yesterday felt like eons ago. When he didn’t reply, Hunk pulled a sheepish face. “Just wondering if you wanted to head to the beach, that’s all.”

Last night, Keith had thought it would be so easy to ignore them, ignore everyone in this town. _Damn them all_ , he thought because it had worked last time. He hadn’t considered that they wouldn’t ignore him.

And it was harder to say no to Hunk’s puppy-dog eyes than he had factored into the equation. Or maybe Keith was just bad at math.

He opened the door in answer and Hunk’s face lit up. The three of them squeezed past him and by the time Keith had closed the door and turned around, they were making themselves at home. Pidge had resumed the position they were in when Keith had met them, Hunk was peering through the contents of the cupboards and fridge (both of them were talking about where Shiro got his juice and Keith could barely supress the confusion from his face because _surely_ Altea had a grocery store) and Lance was _still_ not looking at him but instead out, leaning against the windowsill and squinting through the sunlight like he thought that if he looked hard enough, he would see something other than the endless blue of the sky and sea. Keith wanted to say something, scoff but there were rocks in his throat and he knew the words would not be welcome. He left to change without saying a word.

Even with the door closed, Keith could hear them. Eventually, Lance’s voice joined the conversation. Keith was in Altea for a reason and yet this was the first time he felt guilt really.

Keith put on one of his own t-shirts and after a long moment of deliberation, one of Lance’s pair of shorts. When he went back into the kitchen, Lance’s laughter at Pidge’s impersonation of Shiro cutting off, jagged. He looked at the shorts, didn’t look at Keith and said nothing. The sea, once again, became a point of fascination. Rocks in his throat that Keith had no choice but to swallow.

Hunk whistled good-naturedly. “Well, would ya look at that? Keith has skin.”

Pidge put down the blender and squinted at Keith’s lower half, pushing their glasses higher up on their nose. “Does he also have a Vitamin D deficiency?”

“Shut up,” Keith said, self-conscious. Pidge and Hunk both sniggered.

“Come on.” Lance was already at the door. Keith focused on the freckles on his shoulders, disappearing under his tank top. Anything to distract himself from the coldness of Lance’s tone and the weight of the gaze that passed between Hunk and Pidge behind him.

They followed Lance down to the beach as Keith had come used to doing except this time, Lance led without his useless vigour. He picked up a stick along the way, dragging it along the grass until stone become sand and then he whistled the attention of the nearest dog before hurling it towards the sea. Hunk and Pidge breezed past and Keith followed them, leaving Lance in animated conversation with the dog owner.

Pidge and Hunk offered respectively to watch the stuff if Keith wanted to go out for a swim but Keith declined and they were neither surprised nor disappointed. He watched them go then closed his eyes because the sun was hurting them but that just made the sound of the beach goers and the sea all the more overwhelming so he looked out, past Hunk and Pidge and the countless other people splashing about in the water until everything blurred and he couldn’t tell the sea from the sky. It didn’t really make him feel any better.

After some time, Pidge returned, arms wrapped tight around their torso. Keith handed them their glasses then dug between the bags of stuff, finding a towel just as a shadow fell over him. He looked up just in time to see Lance, stood too close, lift his tank top over his head. Keith forgot about the towel until Pidge snatched it with one hand, Lance’s t-shirt with the other and ducked under Lance’s hand, lumbering off and grumbling. Lance yelled, “You’re welcome!” after them but didn’t look upset. He even smiled before he realised Keith was staring and then turned away.

Pathetically, Keith wondered what it was about him that made ingratitude so much worse of a crime. He picked at a thread at one of the pockets of the shorts as Lance joined Hunk out at sea.

Pidge returned wearing Lance’s tank top and the towel around their waist. “Forgot my pants.”

Keith didn’t know what to say so he said nothing. He stared at the NASA logo on the top that was barely recognisable, partly from how faded it was but also because of how the tank folded loosely over Pidge, the way borrowed clothes often did. He wondered how different Lance’s shirts would fit on him.

Noticing him staring, Pidge said in answer, “Lance’s mom doesn’t let him leave without a shirt if she catches him.”

“Mrs McClain?”

“Yep. The man, the myth, the legend.” Pidge wiped a stray droplet from their forehead. “She literally wrestled him into it. Couldn’t catch most of what their argument was about except she told him her son would never be a nudist, not as long as she breathed air.”

Having met her now, Keith didn’t have difficulty imagining the sight. It was harder to supress a smile. Pidge wasn’t bothering. “He gets everything from his mom. His loud voice, his dramatic flair, his need to mama hen everyone without even realising.”

“Is that what this is?” Keith raised his eyebrows at the tank top. “Lance being a mother hen?”

“He’d pass his friends gold like he’s giving them his sweat rag,” Pidge said earnestly. “You just get thrown off because sometimes it _is_ his sweat rag. He’s a self-proclaimed bad boy. It’s terrible.”

Keith said nothing. Pidge side-eyed him and added, “Me and Hunk headed over because Lance wasn’t answering our texts either.”

At that, Keith’s heart sunk into his stomach, heavy and awful. There weren’t rocks in his throat or his chest or his gut. His heart was made of stone. In the distance, he was no longer able to see Lance or Hunk between the waves made of water and human limbs.

*

In Lance’s defence, he didn’t speak any more or any less to Keith than he always had. As the sun grew higher in the sky, the rhythm Keith had grown used to returned, Hunk lying back on the sand as Pidge rested their head on his stomach, reading out the Wikipedia page for something strangely niche whilst Lance flexed every time Allura passed. As the sun lowered, they picked up their things and upon Lance’s insistence, shuffled towards the café owned by the Hunk family which Keith had yet to see. They were at the end of the road, Keith stood between Lance and Hunk who were engaged in a deadly serious debate on superior crepe fillings (Keith had never seen Hunk so passionate), when Pidge suddenly broke through the group, rushing ahead. “Dad!”

Not a half second later, Hunk (crepes forgotten) gasped and followed. Outside a café that looked like a mix of art décor and old school ice cream parlour, a small crowd had gathered around a car. At Pidge’s shout, the grey-haired bespectacled man who had been leaning on the open door of the driver’s seat of a car almost fell over. He recovered as Keith neared, Lance keeping pace, in time for Pidge to throw themselves at him. Hunk was also yelling, less intelligibly, bursting through a couple who were undoubtedly his parents (larger than life and just as beautiful) to hug a young woman with Hunk’s thick dark hair in an intricate braid and his brilliant teeth behind black lipstick. The only person Keith recognised was Matt who was removing a bright hot pink suitcase from the back of the car, only pausing to acknowledge Keith with a friendly smile and a wave. Between the shouting and laughter, Keith heard a name. _Mara_. He stood a few steps away and Lance crossed his arms over his chest, looking pleased with himself. Keith recalled what Pidge had said earlier, about being a mother hen. It had been Lance’s idea to come here.

Mara upon spotting Lance, pursed her lips. “What? Too cool for hugs now, Lancey?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Lancey?” he inquired, under his breath.

Lance didn’t look at him, his grin bordering a grimace. He said, “shut up,” but there was colour on his cheeks. Briefly Mara’s gaze locked on Keith’s and a silent exchange passed, a mutual joy in tormenting Lance that brought them together. The moment was broken when Lance stepped forward, blocking Keith’s view briefly, to go over and hug Mara. She wrapped her arms around him tight and picked him up, spinning him round and eliciting cheers from everyone.

Like a bucket of cold water, Keith felt like he was back on the outside of everything, nodding when introduced to Hunk’s family but barely there, blinded by their white teeth and hearty friendliness that appeared to run in the family. He only caught snippets of conversation, Pidge’s dad was on his way back (he’d been at some university convention) when he spotted Mara at the bus stop, Mara had been on a ski trip with some friends but _boy_ was she glad to be back in the sun and _would ya look at that? Lance McClain_ had been able to keep a secret but not to worry, Mrs McClain would come knocking any minute now. Everyone laughed except him.

Watching them, Altea felt at full swing. It felt like it was out to hit Keith.

Hunk’s parents began ushering everyone in, _tsk_ ing when Pidge’s father apologised for not staying longer but his wife would be waiting. Pidge and Matt said their goodbyes too and got into the car. Keith wondered if he could sneak away under the smoke it spluttered but he blinked and Mara was beside him, hooking her arm through his as if they’d been friends forever, marching them into the café. Her father and brother grappled with her luggage which turned out to be more than one suitcase whilst Lance flipped the _Open!_ sign to _Closed!_ for _Garrett’s Goodies_.

Mara let go as soon as they settled at a table but Keith was relieved nonetheless – until she smiled and asked, “How’re you finding Altea, Keith?”

“It’s nice,” Keith said and tried not to wince at how pathetic it sounded. Mara wore a red sundress with a thick black belt, carried an oversized black sunhat under her arm and a black backpack covered in patches and badges, some of which Keith recognised and wished he could ask about. She also looked like she’d rather die than have anyone describe anything of hers as _nice_.

But she didn’t lose that smile and it was close enough to Hunk’s that he didn’t feel entirely out of his depth, even if there was something a little sharper to her bite and attuned to her gaze. “Lance mentioned you.”

“Saying what?”

There must have been something tired in Keith’s tone because Mara laughed before lowering her voice, just a little. There wasn’t a mean bone in her body, in the family, but her tone was cheeky. “Just that Shiro’s little brother is here and he’s got the town’s attention.”

Keith looked at the back of Lance. Hunk’s mother had slapped a dishcloth over his head and he had let it hang there like a make-shift sunhat. He was waving Hunk over, who had emerged once again with his father but without the luggage. The argument on food resumed.

Finally, Keith cleared his throat and said, “I don’t think I have. I’m not doing anything special.”

Mara stared at him for a long moment and then sighed and shook her head. “No, I suppose not.”

 “What did Lance say anyway?”

Mara grinned but then Lance called her name (Keith tried not to jump guiltily which Lance didn’t notice but Mara did) and she simply nodded a goodbye and joined Lance’s side. Keith didn’t move. His heart felt in his throat. He wondered if he was on the verge of a panic attack and yet there wasn’t anything to panic about here, in a café with mismatched chairs and chequered floors and a blackboard menu behind the counter, cutesy cursive written in chalk with hearts instead of dots over i’s. He wondered if he’d ever learn that panic didn’t care where he was. He wondered if his heart would ever learn the difference.

Keith only realised he had been spacing out when he felt something hit him in the face. He lifted his hand to his cheek and blinked, his vision focusing on the drink across the table from him (a milkshake piled high with cream and a cherry on top) and then at Lance, the tablecloth wrapped around his shoulders now. “Ow?” More a question, than an exclamation.

Lance ducked, scooping whatever it was off the floor before tossing it on the table between them. He sat down heavily, elbows first, popping the cherry in his mouth and looking away.

A hair bobble. Plain, black. Keith stared at it and then at Lance.

“So you stop wearing your hair up with an elastic band.” He paused, giving Keith a side-eyed glance. “Unless you only take hand-outs from the McClains now.” When Keith simply looked blankly at him, he sighed. “It’s Mara’s.”

Keith narrowed his eyes but reached out anyway, catching it on his fingertips with one hand and using the other to scoop back his hair. “It wasn’t necessary.”

Lance took a long sip of his milkshake. “Yeah, yeah, you’re _welcome_.” But it didn’t sound all that different from when he had said it to Pidge on the beach except instead of a smile, he pouted.

Keith’s heart didn’t feel any less heavy but he felt light-headed. He had begun to associate the emotion of relief with Lance McClain.

He said, flatly, “You’ve got cream on your lip.”

Lance blinked, as if surprised by the prospect. Then his tongue slid out, cat-like, licking his lips clean. He didn’t take his eyes off Keith. “All good?”

Keith only nodded.

“Keith, sweetheart,” Hunk’s mother called out and Keith didn’t jump, this time. “What will you be having?”

Everyone offered recommendations. Lance grabbed a menu from the nearest table and pulled his chair closer so they could share it even though he already had his milkshake. But he muttered comebacks to every suggestion, almost as if he was talking to himself and Keith was just lucky to be close enough to hear it, close enough he could see how different Lance’s mouth looked, wet but not from sea water. The Garrett family were waiting expectedly but not impatiently for his answer, all with the same dark, kind eyes, even if the spark in Mara’s was youthful and playful, unknowing of why Keith couldn’t look at her for too long.

Keith wondered if his heart would ever learn the difference between the buzzing of panic and the fluttering of nervousness, like standing on the edge of a cliff as the sunset coloured the café orange.

*

When Keith opened the front door the next day, he was already dressed in a combo identical to the day prior and Lance was alone. He wore a backwards baseball cap and another tank top, the poster depicting the movie _Jaws_ fading and flicking off. The image of Mrs McClain wrestling it over Lance’s baseball-clad head was comical.

“Yo.”

Keith recovered from the surprise and pushed the door open. “Hey.”

Lance deliberated on the doorstep. “Hunk and Pidge wanted to spend time with their family.”

“Yeah.” Keith felt silly, door opened invitingly but neither of them moving. “Of course.”

When Lance didn’t say anything else, Keith turned away, mumbling, “Gonna grab my bag.”

Lance waited on the spot. It was almost as if they hadn’t sat together yesterday evening but maybe Keith had imagined the feeling of comfort between the few words exchanged. He hadn’t apologised and Lance hadn’t said he’d forgiven him but when Keith had walked home, his stomach had been full and the back of his neck was warm, even with his hair gathered up. Maybe Lance simply didn’t want to disappoint Mama Hunk.

But Lance was here and that had to mean something. Or at least, Keith concluded, it couldn’t mean _nothing_.

Once again, Lance led the way to the beach. They didn’t speak. Keith begun descending towards their usual spot until Lance caught his arm. Keith was aware of his paleness (he was the butt off multiple jokes for it) but it wasn’t until he saw Lance’s dark, freckled hand on the crook of his elbow that he realised that he was washed out, like driftwood bleached from the ocean, and Lance was warm. “This way.”

Lance let go, just as suddenly. Keith followed him towards Coran’s shop. Despite it being early in the day, the beach was already beginning to heave with visitors and Coran with customers. Lance shuffled around groups of people, attempting to get Coran’s attention. Keith watched as some girls decided between an inflatable flamingo or an inflatable palm tree. Lance, losing what little patience he had, climbed onto the counter. The girls scattered, tittering, having bought both.

“You got them ready, Coran?” he called out.

Coran looked past Lance, giving Keith a tip of his cap in greeting before fixing Lance with a hard look. “Are you sure about this, Lance? This isn’t one of your schemes, is it?”

Keith tensed up. Lance waved Coran off. “No way, Cor. No schemes, no funny business. Besides, these cliffs are my mamas. I’ve been hangin’ off them since I was a kid.”

Coran pulled a face. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

“Do you think I want to get my ass handed to me by Shiro?”

Coran raised an eyebrow and Lance looked away with a huff. But then he sighed, dropping to the ground and pulling off his hat to hold to his chest sombrely. He met Coran’s gaze head-on with more seriousness than Keith would have thought possible to come from Lance.  “I’ll look after Keith. Scout’s honour.”

Coran stared for a moment longer then sighed, resigned, and turned away. Lance put his hat back on with flourish, lips upturned in victory. Only when the familiar equipment was being loaded between the two of them did Lance’s words click into place. Coran was still talking about health and safety but all Keith could hear was _cliffs cliffs cliffs_.

They headed off, following the path Keith had taken a few days ago but it felt like weeks. It had not been so long since Keith had told Lance that he used to climb. And they didn’t speak, not during the journey, not when they stopped, not as they put on their harnesses. It had been a while. He felt Lance’s warmth again on the back of his hand, a mumble of disapproval and Lance was fixing it, as close as he had been yesterday, maybe even closer. Keith focused past him, on the cliff and the climb awaiting. Almost familiar.

Except this wasn’t with Shiro and he was wearing another pair of Lance’s shorts and they were standing where they had joked with something close to friendship. Keith’s guilt was more crushing than any rocks they would climb. His mouth was dry because how was he supposed to know that the McClains were just like this? Except he knew of the sofa and the taste of Mrs McClain’s food and everything since had only made things so much more unforgivable, the hair bobble and the smile in Pidge’s voice when they called Lance a mama hen. _I’ll look after Keith. Scout’s honour._

Keith knew he had no excuse, only his pride.

They started climbing, Lance in lead but close. It wasn’t a challenging cliff-face, small by all standards and as friendly as the rest of Altea, but it was new. It was distracting, almost enough that Keith could pretend he was alone except he could hear Lance’s breathing, even but loud. No conversation but then Lance was near enough side by side to him and Keith realised that it was a compliment, that he was, for once, not a liability.

His foot slipped. Unnecessarily, Lance’s arm wound around his waist like rope and they both watched as one of Keith’s Vans fell to the ground.

Lance spoke first. His voice was solemn. “There goes your emo slipper.”

Keith pushed Lance away, regaining his balance with as much dignity as a man with one shoe could. They stared at each other, blank-eyed, but then Keith couldn’t conceal a snort and both of them were laughing. The higher the altitude, the thinner the air but they were full-fat belly laughing and even though Keith was breathless, it was somehow easier to breathe.

Lance trailed off first, looking at Keith from behind the corner of his palm which he used to wipe away the tears that had formed in his eyes. Keith tried not to feel self-conscious. “What?”

“Nothing.” Lance’s tone was sly. “Just didn’t realise you knew how to laugh.”

“Come back over here so I can push you again.”

Lance laughed, a single, joyful note. He looked up at the sky and Keith had seen that pleased satisfaction in his face before, stood outside the Garrett’s café. “I knew clawing at some rocks would help.”

“Help what?”

“Make you loosen up.”

Keith’s face felt warm. He looked down again. “Well, not like we got far.”

“You should have worn better shoes.”

“You should have told me we would be rock climbing.”

Lance mimicked Pidge. “Excuses, excuses.” He shifted himself up a rock, gaze focused upwards and hesitance indignant. “We can do it again. When you have better footwear. If you want.” Then he threw a smirk over his shoulder. “Though don’t think you’ll be getting any shoes off me. My feet are _obviously_ far bigger.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. Suspended in air but the weight in his chest was gone. He was no longer anchored.  “You’re really gonna die on that hill, aren’t you?”

“I think you’ll find this is a cliff actually.” Lance winked. “Keep up, city boy.”

Keith rolled his eyes. They started their descent down, Lance leading to advise Keith where to put his foot without hurting it. Keith was glad Lance couldn’t see his face, even for a short while. The effort to not smile was hurting his jaw. Once they were on solid ground, Keith took off his own harness and Lance retrieved his shoe. Instead of turning back towards the beach, Lance ditched the harnesses and led them away, further out.

Something about being in the rocks made Keith’s tongue feel less heavy but no less clumsy. He blurted out, “Mara said you told her about me.”

Lance paused but only for a second. It could have been a trick of the light. He didn’t turn around. “Oh, yeah? What’d she say?”

“That you said?” Keith felt silly repeating it. “That I’ve got the town’s attention. Or something.”

“Only facts, my man.” Lance looked over his shoulder with a quirked eyebrow. “You got a problem with that?”

“Not really.” Problem wasn’t the right word. “It’s just not true. Or if it is, it’s… not like that.”

“Like what?”

They stopped in a clearing with little sand but lots of rockpools, water glinting like glass under the sun. Lance jumped down with ease and judged Keith’s hesitation as being physical. Keith shook his head at Lance’s outstretched hand and Lance rolled his eyes, grabbing Keith’s shirt to yank him towards him. Keith balanced his arms on Lance’s shoulders and they spun in a strange dance until Keith’s feet hit the ground. Lance stepped back but looked expectant, challenging. “Like what, huh?”

“I don’t know.” Except he did. He knew and Shiro knew and Matt and Allura and Coran knew. Pidge’s father knew and Mama Hunk probably did too. Mrs McClain knew but her son didn’t. _Couldn’t_ , Keith reassured himself. He had given that much trust to Shiro. And everyone was right, Lance could only keep his mouth shut on a secret for so long. If Lance knew, Keith would have known about it by now. “I’m just… I’m not anything new or exciting. Really.”

Lance stared at him a moment longer then turned away, muttering under his breath. He squatted over a rockpool and didn’t speak until Keith joined him. “You read too much into things. I told Mara because I wanted to see who would win: preppy goth or emo lone wolf.”

Keith didn’t have any time to be insulted. Lance pointed out some insect and proceeded to rattle off facts about the rockpools and the tides and Altea. Keith listened, not really taking any of it in but soothed by the enthusiasm in Lance’s tone and the press of their shoulders. When Lance sat back to survey the ocean, Keith was beginning to understand that when he looked out there, it wasn’t for something else.

Everything Lance wanted was in that endless sky and sea.

*

When Keith got home, Shiro was talking in the living room with a tall, dark-skinned man. He wore a dark suit which Keith thought was impractical in the heat but he didn’t really have a leg to stand on. He was also so stunned by the man’s beauty that the silliness of the choice was easily forgiven. The man’s hair was long, well-kept and as white as his beard. It wasn’t hard to guess that he was Allura’s father. He smiled warmly when he saw Keith and extended his hand. Shiro had to cough to snap Keith out of his daze and shake it.

“I won’t impeach on your time any longer,” Alfor said and Shiro walked him to the door, talking about construction work and ideal times and deposits. Keith watched Shiro let him out and then the silhouette of his tense figure, back to Keith. He was braced like he was expecting a fight. Keith wished it wasn’t an unfounded way to be around him.

And he realised, almost all at once, that the fire in him had gone out, doused like he had taken a dip in the sea, like the hands Lance pushed into a rockpool had relaxed out of fists.

Keith was exhausted, hands calloused from climbing rocks and head hurting from the sun and dancing around and with Lance McClain, in words and in gestures. He wanted to unpick and unpack them, to ask Shiro if Mara had been wearing black lipstick for as long as he had known her and if he had a regular choice at the Garrett’s café. But that would mean asking how many people knew why Keith was here at all and neither of them wanted to talk about that. Keith wasn’t sure if Shiro even knew _how_.

He turned. Keith asked, “What’s for dinner?”

His brother smiled. People often commented on how little family resemblance there was between them but Keith thought they were choosing not to see past water. Relief looked the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (keith's inner monologue voice) fellas is it gay to stare at another guy's lips????


End file.
